11th_street bijou i wrote myself a note that said i'd climb up on a tall bridge and look down and say now all that shit is beneath us. we went to where 11th street ends there's a forty foot wall that you can sit on and see for miles and miles. you can see the west bottoms, the river, the paseo bridge, and the downtown airport. i sat on the stone wall and flipped off my red flip flops with the tiny white polka-dots, cherry red toenails today. rick was nervous and wouldn't sit, asked me not to sit so close to the edge, at least keep one foot on the ground side. i drank gin and he stag beer in gold cans. he told me about the day he was five and his family was in a car accident and his beautiful mother died. he has a big scar on his stomach from where he lost his spleen. i told him i don't talk about him with my friends because i don't want any advice. i don't want them to ruin it for me. they don't think the way that i do. i'm still dreaming about tornadoes but it's different now, like it's not such a big deal anymore. it's easy. i hope i don't look back on this day and realize i was surely wrong when i thought i was falling in love with him. 030610 what's it to you? who go blather from